One year, a woman decided to splurge on some expensive silk thigh-highs for the office Christmas party. They looked great with a dress she had bought in New York, one she thought would be classic enough to last out the whims of fashion. Sure enough, she was a hottie and caught some attention, but she snagged them on a corner of a filing cabinet and had to throw them away when she got home.
The next year at Christmas, the same woman thought it would be nice to splurge on on a pair of expensive thigh highs for the party that would be held at the office. The lace bands gripped well and she found a garter belt in her drawer that looked great. Her boss noticed how hot she looked and rubbed his hand along her leg when she was sitting on a desk, drinking. She slipped and snagged the stockings on a drawer. The next morning, she threw the stockings away as well as some things she found in her apartment – a couple of cigars, a kerchief.
The next year, the same woman wanted to do add something to her Christmas party dress that would make her feel sexy. Overworked and overscheduled, she’d been feeling more rat than woman. She took a bath before the party, drank champagne, and put on these great silk thigh highs. Why hadn’t she thought of these before? When she got to the party, she was so drummed up she hit on a young male intern. When she went into the office the next day, still in her thigh highs, there was a note on her desk from her boss, telling her what she’d done was most inappropriate. “This is a warning,” the note said. When she looked down, she saw a huge runner in her stockings, starting at the knee.
The next year, the same woman saw these thigh highs on sale. In a kind of mad frenzy, she gathered up as many as she could carry and took them to the register. The saleswoman gave her a little smile, just a slight upturning of the lips. “This is a great price,” said the woman, ringing up the stockings. She agreed and tried to ignore what the saleswoman might be insinuating. She could wear whatever stockings she wanted for whatever reason. That night, for the party, the woman decided to stuff extra stockings into her purse. Sometimes these silk stockings tend to snag, or at least she’d heard, and she was intent on being more polished about her look these days though she wasn’t about to stoop to nylon, at least not for the office Christmas party. She also remained sober. She had filed the warning the previous year among her pay stubs and came across it from time to time. She went home with all of her stockings intact and put them away neatly in her drawer the next day.
This woman became so particular about silk stockings, especially the kind that come up to the thigh, that she put it in her will that she be buried in these particular kind of hosiery. When she had passed, her daughter brought to the mortician the stockings her mother had requested for her coffin attire. The mortician was a friend of this woman’s daughter and was surprised the woman had worn thigh highs while alive and wanted to don them while dead. She was a crusty old broad. Plus, the stockings themselves were incredibly expensive as was obvious from the feel of them, their quality, the packaging. The mortician slipped off the stockings she was wearing and slipped on the woman’s stockings and garter. The lace gripped her thighs and her legs felt great. She put her own stockings on the corpse and wheeled it into cold storage. She called her boyfriend and they snagged the dead woman’s stockings all over the place.
First published in The New Absurdist